White Night Fantasy
by White Rose Withering
Summary: Sequel to Chance. With Snow falling outside, Both Harry and Ruth find themselves making a choice.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

**Author's Note:** Sequel to Chance.  
The name comes care of Nightwish, fantastic band that they are. This idea came to me as a dream, and so I really had to turn it into a Fic. I just hope i've done it justice.  
Thank You for Reading, Enjoy and Please Review! And Look out for the following chapters.  
Merry Christmas! (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)

**White Night Fantasy – Chapter One**

The day had dragged on, squeezing out each and every last drop of daylight. Come home time, everyone was glad to be leaving behind how manic the grid had become for a swift half at the George. All accept one.

Ruth would have been more than happy to work into the early morning. There were countless reports to be completed and filed, housekeeping to be checked and surveillance tapes to be viewed. Since Adam had been placed on sick leave, the work load had tripled. She hadn't complained as Malcolm pilled yet another stack of folders on her desk, not once. But even that hadn't been enough to convince Harry to let her stay late. She would had tried tears if it would have made a difference. Not that it would have. He had been quite firm in telling her to go home, to put her feet up and try to enjoy what was left of her night.

So she had caught the last bus home, which for once was on time. Even the buses where against her. She had avoided her bedroom for the better part of an hour; she didn't want to look at the outfit that she had picked out. As if seeing the dress would admit that she was actually planning on going through with tonight. Would picking up the phone and pretending to be ill be cowardly? Or saying that she was buried under a ton of paperwork? None of her excuses sounded creditable.

Biting the bullet she did her hair and make-up. She used far too much eyeliner, making the blue of her eyes darker, almost a sapphire blue. Her red lip stick matched the dress. She'd been lucky to find the shade at all. Lost amongst the pale pinks and gold's. A rose amongst the thorns as her elegant poetry books would describe it. The black knee high boots set off the outfit along with the black silk scarf.

She sat in the back of the taxi, wringing her hands. No matter how many times she told herself that tonight was going to be fine, the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't agree. As she picked an imaginary piece of lint from her clothing, her mind swirled with different conversational pieces. If she planned on getting through tonight with no hiccups, then she needed to sick to them. But as she forgot the punch line to yet another joke, she wished that she was sat at her station on the grid. She felt safe there, surrounded by the familiar faces of the admin staff, watching a certain someone working away into the early hours. Sat in the taxi, she had never felt so terrified.

The taxi pulled up outside the expensive South London house. A thick blanket of snow covered the street. Somehow Ruth had climbed out and paid the driver without even realising it. Lost between wondering what could happen and wondering if she should turn around and go home. She took a step forward, finding it easier than she had originally thought. It was like walking across a bridge, just don't look down. She prayed that she wouldn't slip on the icy path. The house was the same as every other in the street, except the Christmas lights. They left something to be desired. Pink and White didn't suit the owner.

She pressed the door bell, expecting to hear a high pitched ring, but all was silent. Frowning, Ruth wondered if it was actually working and raised her hand to knock. The door opened, followed by a cloud of Christmas songs that hadn't seen the light of day in decades. Mark as ever looked cheerful, if not a little tense. The tightness around his mouth loosened when he saw her.

"Hello gorgeous!" he beamed, his voice taking on that excited lit that all voices get towards Christmas. His smile as bright as the fairy lights, though, gladly not the same colour.

"Hello you." Ruth's work smile snapped into place, a little plastic but it was a smile all the same. "Merry Christmas," she said, walking into his open arms.

"Is it Christmas already?" he asked, mockingly. "You wouldn't know it around here." His eyes were a little wide as he gestured to the Christmas lights.

The hallway was as badly decorated as the outside. Golds, reds, greens and pinks covered every surface. Mark was a refined man, he had a certain class. This…mixture of festive colours, were not to his taste.

"Grace been…embellishing a bit, has she?"

Mark shuddered visibly. "God I wish I had taken up Oliver's offer to go to Austria skiing for Christmas, I really do."

She smiled genuinely for the first time in days. "Here," she said, pulling a bottle of rather inexpensive wine out of her bag and handed it to him. "You better have this then."

He looked over the bottle and grinned. "It'll do in a pinch, thanks lovely." His expression changed from light-hearted to deadly serious. "Now you do remember about tonight…."

"Yes, Grace made sure it was on the invitation." She thought back to the piece of paper that had been hand delivered to her front door. "Not everyone invited is acquainted with the service, so legends are necessary. Bottle optional." She knew her smile was somewhat smug, but she didn't actually care.

He nodded. "Just as long as you remember, a slip up could land us in a lot of hot water."  
Ruth couldn't stop rolling her eyes. "Really Mark, you're starting to sound like my boss." As soon as she said it, she winced. It was true, but she still regretted saying it. "Chris…I, I meant _Chris_."

After a minute of silent glaring, Mark nodded. "Good, _Sharon_," he said, taking her hand. "Let's get a drink."

"If your lovely wife intends to try and set me up with any single male with a pulse, then I am seriously going to need one."

He frowned, leading her into the small family room. A table had been laid out with all kinds of bottles. The smell of alcohol was as strong as the musty smell of books on a library shelf. The lady of the house had continued her decorative style throughout the house it seemed.

"She has promised me that she'll refrain from doing that tonight."

Ruth made an "hmm" noise. She seriously doubted that Grace could stop herself from match making all night. She continually pointed out that Ruth was her only single friend left, and she was determined to fix it. It wouldn't have all that bad if some of the blind dates had actually been handsome, interesting or intelligent. Not that she was asking for all three, that would be a bonus. Grace was a lovely girl, but god help her, baring Mark she really had the worse taste in men.

Armed with a glass of sweet, white wine, that put her cheap bottle to shame, she almost felt ready to meet the hostess.

Grace was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to one of her famous Christmas cakes. An insane grin spread across her face as she looked up. Her flaming red hair and eyes so green that they would make a cat envious. She was one of those women that were handsome rather than beautiful. But it took a while to work that out; with the amount of make up she wore.

She wiped the icing from her fingers and drew Ruth into a hug. "Ru…Sharon!" Though her smile never faulted, her eyes flicked towards her husband. Maybe it wouldn't be Ruth to slip up tonight after all.

"Hello Vanessa," she said, managing to wiggle of out the other woman's embrace. "How are you?"

"Fantastic!" she shrieked, excitedly. Grace's voice was normally high pitched; tonight it was as if she had inhaled a helium balloon. She pulled her apron off and tossed it to Mark. "Right you, keep an eye on those mince pies, I don't want them burning. And keep your fingers off the cake!"

They left Mark staring at the rather frilly, pink apron. Grace showed Ruth into the living room. At least twelve people sat on the white leather sofas and out in the conservatory. A hushed conversation fell over the room like a cloud. Ruth couldn't help but notice the lack of women in the two rooms. Besides herself and Grace, there were maybe three other women. She found herself glaring at the red head.

"So how are you, Sharon?" she asked, with a smile. She continued without giving her a moment to answer. "Still single?"

And there it was the most despised question in the English language.

Ruth gritted her teeth, which made her smile a little crooked. "Yes, it's still just me."  
"Well then, we'll have to fix that."

The read head took her by the arm and started introductions. Every time they approached a married man, remarkably he stepped out of the room. It was like a dance that Ruth wasn't apart of, every move, every detail planned down to a tee. If Grace hadn't had a tight grip on her arm, she would have bolted. Run back to her house to sit alone in the dark with the cat.

The conversations ran from fly fishing to model boat racing. She found talking to one particular individual better than sleeping tablets. Within minutes of listening to him go on about his chronic back problems, she was yawning into her empty glass.

The wine hadn't lasted as long as she expected. But then again she was in extreme circumstances. She excused herself from the gentleman whose banter had ended up around throw pillows and under Grace's watchful eye; she went to get another drink.

For the first time in an hour, she found herself blissfully alone and had never enjoyed silence so much. She picked up the bottle of white to find it empty. Even held up to the light, she couldn't see a drop left. With a heavy sigh, she set the bottle down.

"Taking refuge amongst the bottles?" Mark was standing in the open doorway. A small smile on his face.

"Yes, if I'm planning on going back in, I think I need something a little stronger," she said, gesturing to the empty bottle.

"I'm sorry about Grace." He shrugged, peering out of the window. "But other than being set up with anything, oh let's say, with a pulse," he paused, laughing softly. "Are you ok?"

She nodded. "As long as there aren't any nasty surprises lurking around the corner, I'll be just peachy."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The tightness around his mouth had set in again.  
"Mark, are you…"

He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. It took him twice before he finally found his voice. "Ruth I need to tell you something…"

A soft buzzing went through the house. Mark physically jumped at the sound of the doorbell. "I'll get that," he said, somewhat urgently. He wouldn't meet her gaze.

Ruth watched him back out of the room with a frown. She shook her head; he was being so strange tonight. She sent a questioning glance around the table, looking for the bottle of cheap plonk that she had brought. She couldn't find it and thought about calling out to Grace, but over the outdated Christmas songs, she doubted she would hear.

Out in the hallway she could hear voices in a heated discussion. One was obviously Mark, there was no mistaking that. But the other voice made her freeze. The soothing quality, the rough charm. If she didn't know any better she would have said it was…

Her hand was on the door handle before she could stop herself. She started to say something, but the words died in her throat. If she had still been holding her glass, she would have dropped it onto the wooden floor. She struggled to breathe past the lump in her throat.

Her voice came small and strangled. "Harry."

_To Be Continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

**Author's Note:** I hope everyone had a great Christmas and New Year.  
Sorry that it's taken me so long to up date this, but its here at long last.  
Please Read & Review! (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)

**White Night Fantasy – Chapter Two**

Time seemed to dawdle, almost as if she were watching a film in slow motion. Ruth let out a breath that she hadn't even realised she was holding. She blinked, rapidly, several times. It must have looked like she was having a fit, but even that thought couldn't stop her from doing so.

At least her face was blissfully void of emotion. Harry, so usually clam and collected, fought very hard to keep his expression blank. But the shock was plain to see in his eyes.  
If Mark hadn't have moved, Ruth doubted either of them would have given him another glance. They both looked to him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. He squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of their gaze, dropping his eyes to the floor. Embarrassment never was one of Mark's strong points.

He started to say something when the hallway was filled with Grace's high pitched voice. "John!" She practically ran down the hall in her pink stiletto heels to embrace him. "I haven't seen you in ages. That husband of mine really should invite you over more often."

If Harry felt uncomfortable hugging the twenty something red head with her candy colour dress, then he didn't look it. Ruth felt the first twinge of jealousy raising its ugly head. She had no right to be, she knew that. But it still bothered her to see Grace fling herself at Harry.

Grace turned that charming, if not slightly insane smile on Ruth. "Have you two met?" she asked, gesturing between them.

Harry hesitated for a second, sending a quick glance towards Ruth. "No," he said, simply, shaking his head. "We haven't."

Ruth closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. She couldn't believe he was playing the game. But then again, it was almost all they knew.

Grace's smile seemed to brighten, though it may just have been a trick of light. She wrapped her arms around Mark and stepped into him, giving them enough room. Mark flicked between the two of them, frowning, slightly puzzled.

"This is Sharon," the red head said with pure delight. "We used to work together. Sharon, John."

Ruth could feel the corners of her mouth tugging up into yet another tense smile. Anymore and her jaw would start to creak. It always happened when she was nervous, that and babbling uncontrollably. She extended her hand to him, fully aware that she looked like a clown. All the time trying to tell herself that it was just a hand shake, nothing more. Though something in her didn't quite buy that.

She met his gaze at the same time as their hands touched. Ruth fought to breathe past the lump in her throat. She didn't think that she smile could become more strained than it already was, she'd been wrong. Her whole body ached with tension; she could feel it marching up and down her arm. Their hands parted quickly, if not reluctantly. Leaving behind the memory of pressure and the feel of his skin.

"Pleasure," Harry said softly.

She balled her hand into a fist, cursing herself for being effected like this. She managed a slight nod in reply.

The tension as thick as liquid. Mark clapped his hands together, the sharp noise in the silence sounded like a gun shot. Ruth physically jumped at the sound. "Right," he said, struggling to at least sound cheerful. "Drinkes anyone?"

xxx

The false smile had started wear thin, he could see that even from across the room. He could only imagine what conversation she was being subjected to. She raised her glass to her lips, just wetting them with alcohol. Harry made himself turn away, to try and focus on what in the hell Mark was raving incessantly about. Something about Grace's taste in Christmas decorations no doubt. No matter how much he concentrated, he found himself trying to catch a glimpse of her in the mirror or by simply turning to look at her.

Maybe it was the red of her dress that set her features off so splendidly. She hardly ever wore such bold colours to work; it made her stand out too much. But tonight that didn't seem to matter. She looked like a candle in a coal mine.

It was terrible tradecraft, and Harry knew it. He would have chastised anyone of his officers for such neglect for procedure. Others were bound to notice, if they hadn't already.  
"She won't disappear if you take your eyes off of her, you know." It was the first thing that Harry had actually heard from Mark all night.

"What?" he asked, rather defensively.

Mark couldn't quite stop himself from smiling. "Ruth," he said, lowering his voice so no one besides the two of them would hear. "You've been keeping an eye on her all night."

Harry could have tried to deny any knowledge of what his friend was talking about, but what would be the point?

"You're not her boss tonight, Harry. Just be yourself, please."

But that was the problem. While they were at work, their relationship was strictly professional or as close to it as was humanly possible. Tonight they were supposed to be themselves, no history, no work, just themselves. It could lead to more problems than it solved.

Harry felt movement at his back a moment before their hands touched. A tiny amount of pressure being applied and soft skin. She brushed past him, almost completely oblivious to his presence. Except for that spilt second when the tips of her fingers stroked his. She turned her head just enough to look at him out of the corner of her eye, her cheeks slightly flushed.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Mark clapped his arm around Harry's shoulder. "The night is still young," he said, sipping the expensive whiskey. "You never know what will happen."

Harry nodded, slightly, eyebrow raised. "My thoughts exactly."

_To Be Continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for taking time to read and please enjoy! (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)

**White Night Fantasy – Chapter Three**

It was nothing short of a miracle that Grace had asked for help with the washing up. It wasn't the way Ruth envisioned her evening, but she was thankful for small mercies. Her shoulder blades had been itching all the while she had been talking to Grace and Mark's friends, it felt as though her skin was trying to crawl away from her body. She had had the unpleasant sensation before, and she doubted it would be the last. It didn't help that the cause had only been a few feet away. The tension in the room had set her teeth on edge.

Grace finished washing the dirty dishes, handing them to Ruth to dry, blissfully unaware just how uncomfortable she was with Harry in the next room. Her red hair bobbed when she laugh, her voice held excitement as she talked about her wedding. She was happy in her own little world.

"You've been very quiet tonight Ruth," she said, rinsing the soap suds from her hands.

The brunette nodded, she wasn't going to start explaining the reason for her silence to the younger woman. "So…how do you know John?" She asked, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

"He's one of Mark's friends." She picked her glass of amber liquid. "A little bit stuffy, but he's a sweetie really."

Ruth had to look away from her friend. She busied herself with loading the dishwasher with empty glasses, failing to wipe the smirk from her face. She had heard Harry being called plenty of things during her time working on the grid, but never sweet. When she felt sure enough to speak without laughing, she said, "Do you know what he does?"

The red head thought for a moment, a frown creasing her pretty face. "I'm sure he told me. Something to do with teaching, I think."

Ruth couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. "He doesn't work for the service." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Oh no." Grace said it with such confidence; Ruth wanted more than to set her right. "Why are you so interested anyway?"

"No reason." Then the meaning of Grace's words sunk in. She spun to face the younger woman and fixed her with a glare. "Grace don't you dare start interfering."

"What?" The innocent look didn't suit her. "I wouldn't dream of it." The wistful look in her eyes said differently.

Ruth could hardly stop herself from sighing. Asking Grace to turn her back on her serial matchmaker ways was like asking rain not to be wet, why bother.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ruth saw movement at the door. For a spilt second, she harboured the hope that it was Harry. She had to struggle to keep her disappointment from showing when a tall, brown haired man walked into the kitchen carrying a glass of red wine. They had been introduced earlier, yet Ruth couldn't remember his name for the life of her.

He smiled at her with a perfect set of whitened teeth. "Hello again."

Ruth found a small smile to give him, and nodded in reply.

Grace looked like she was auditioning for the role of the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. Ruth wondered if her jaw was hurting like hell after keeping the same facial expression for hours on end. "The boys starting to bore you?" The read asked, taking a sip of her drink. She grimaced at the taste. Grace was more of a wine person than whiskey.

The newcomer ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. "They're talking about cricket. It's completely lost on me I'm afraid. I'm more of a golf man."

He had an expression of innocence that was very rare to find outside of adolescence.  
Grace laughed; a high pitched sound that almost hurt. Somewhere the dogs of South London were barking into the night. She set her glass down on the counter and clapped her hands together. "Right, if you'll excuse me I'm going to see just how much of a mess my living room is in."

She turned at the door and gave Ruth a flash of her smile, that she supposed was to be reassuring. The only thing missing was the thumbs up. Ruth felt her eyes widen. The trap had been sprung and she hadn't even realised. She rolled her eyes and said a silent _bugger_.

"So Sharon, enjoying yourself?"

Ignoring the urge to say no, Ruth grappled with the right words to convey her discomfort with this situation. "It's been a long night," was the best she could find. She mentally kicked herself.

"I know what you mean. It's one of those times you kick yourself and say "_Tim what have you gotten yourself into?_"

Of course, she remembered him now. After the awkwardness with Harry, she had thrown herself deep into conversation with Tim. It was a weak attempt to stop herself from doing something that she's later regret. As far as she remembered they hadn't had much to talk about besides exchanging favourite authors.

At least then he had been calm. Standing in the kitchen he seemed to have developed a nervous gesture of looking at his wrist watch every few seconds. It took her a moment to realise just what was making him so anxious. It was her.

"So…." He started but couldn't find anything to finish the sentence with.

He obviously liked her and was having trouble talking to her. Ruth found herself trying desperately not to laugh. It was exactly the way she had behaved around Harry. Her mood cooled. It was a sobering thought, and almost a depressing one.

Tim took a swing of his wine and swapped the glass over to his other hand. He wiped his sweaty palm against his trouser leg. He went to check his watch and turned the glass up on its side. The contents spilled out onto his clean, white shirt. Almost the colour of blood, the stain spread down the front of the shirt and the tops of his trousers.

Ruth grabbed a cloth from underneath the kitchen sink and ran it under the cold tap. "Here keep it wet otherwise it'll be hell to shift." She spoke from experience.

"Thanks," he said, taking the damp cloth. "I'm such an idiot."

She found it hard to argue with that.

Tim excused himself, taking a tub of baking soda in effort to remove the red wine from his shirt. Ruth watched him walk out of the room and couldn't help laughing. She leaned against the sink, thinking that this night couldn't get any worse.

xxx

He had been there for a time, leaning against the door frame, just watching her. After a fit of laughter she collapsed against the sink and loosened her scarf. He guessed that she was looking out of the window, probably at the snow covered garden. Blissfully unaware that she was being watched.

It was an unforgivable thing to do; spying on her while she wanted to be alone. It hadn't been intentional. It never was. Even at work he was easily distracted by her. It was simple things she did that he found fascinating.

The decision had been made before he even realised what he was doing. He crossed the room faster than he should have, keeping his step light so that she wouldn't hear. He stepped in close, close enough to smell wine with the under lying scent of rose water perfume.

"You look like you could do with a drink," he said with his mouth hovering just inches from her ear.

Her lips curved upwards in a smile, it was almost naïve. She dropped her eyes to the ground. Harry could make out just the faintest hint of colour to her cheeks.

"That's certainly true," she said, clearing her throat. Her voice had taken on a nervous lit. "I've got the distinct feeling that Grace is planning a summer wedding."

"You mean with the clumsy Tim?"

There was something about the way that he said it that made her stop. She turned around slowly and looked up into his usually so guarded eyes, only to see a softness that she couldn't remember ever seeing before. They were so close, closer than they'd been in weeks. Almost touching. She gripped the edge of the sink so tight that her knuckles turned white. "Have you been spying on me Harry?"

"Absolutely." Since that was exactly what he had been doing, there was no sense to lie about it.

She started to smile, thinking that he'd been joking. Her expression slowly returned to a peaceful blankness when she realised that it was the truth.

Harry leaned in closer, so that she was basically pined against the kitchen sink. Her mouth suddenly went dry. She had never before felt like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights as much as she did around Harry. Her breath stuck in her throat.

"How about that drink?" It was a simple enough question, one that shouldn't have caused so much of a reaction. Ruth's heart skipped a beat. She licked her dry lips.

He moved back, giving her enough room to breath again. Her eyes followed him to the back door, where his hand rested lightly on the handle. "Unless you'd rather spend the night mopping up after Tim nice but Dim. It's your choice."

Ruth let out a shuddering breath and cast a quick look around the empty kitchen. Her heart pounded in her chest, like a caged bird. She felt like pinching herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. But it hadn't been a dream. She could still feel Harry's hot breath on her neck.

She was still going over the events of the past few minutes when Time shuffled back into the kitchen, wiping at the slightly less pink stain o his shirt. He looked up and sighed, a small smile curving his lips.

"Damn thing won't budge. I'll have to throw it in soap when I get home and pray that it comes out."

Ruth was vaguely aware that Tim had spoken; she just hadn't heard a damn thing he said.

"Are you alright Sharon?" He asked hand on hip, looking concerned. "You look a little flushed."

She looked up, her eyes failing to focus on his face in the harsh glare of the kitchen lights. Harry was right in saying it was her choice. She looked from Tim's innocent face imprinted with worry for her to the red wine stain on his shirt. It was the easiest choice she ever made.

_To Be Continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

**Author's Note:** This is the final chapter of White Night Fantasy!  
I hope you have enjoyed reading it, and please don't forget to read and review! (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)

**White Night Fantasy – Chapter Four**

The door opened with an icy rush of wind. The snow gave way under her boots with a satisfying crunch. Ruth watched the snow flakes tumble to the ground in a graceful waltz. A sigh past her lips, swirling blue in the cold air.

A group of middle aged men and women huddled around the blazing chimera. Stamping their feet and rubbing their hands together to keep out the cold. Their voices lost in the sleet.

There was only one place where Harry would be. Only one place that would give them any privacy. Mark and Grace had installed a deck and an ornamental pond during the summer. A screen of ivy blocked the deck from view of the house. Perfect for when you wanted to be alone.

The snow littered ground made it hard to manoeuvre the path. Weeds grew up from the broken slabs, pieces the size of gold balls lay forgotten amongst the overgrown grass. With her hands occupied with a bottle and two glasses, she couldn't afford to get her heels caught in the debris. Falling on her backside lacked a certain elegance.

Harry stood with his back to her, hands flat against the wooden railings. He was staring out over the pond, oblivious to her presence. She wondered if he were cold standing in the snow without a coat. Ruth watched him for a moment. He had always been a mystery, near impossible to read. She never knew what he was thinking. Except every now and again he would do something that surprised her. Nothing quite so immense as to alert anyone to it unless they were really looking. Maybe a softening around the eyes, a few choice words, a touch of his hand. But something just the same.

He turned his head, just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye. The smallest smile on his face. Had it been that obvious that she would choose him?

Ruth couldn't help but smile as she tore the seal from the bottle of Southern Comfort that she'd found hiding amongst a box of mulled wine. She doubted that Mark would miss it. As she unscrewed the cap, she inhaled the first smell of the whiskey. That sickly sweet aroma that always reminded her of warm, summer nights.

Harry took the glass from her with a smile and a thank you. "Made your choice then?" He sounded far more confident than he was. For a brief moment, he had doubted that she would join him. He had left her somewhat startled by his offer.

"There was no comparison," she said, leaning against the railings. She crossed her arms across her chest and sipped at her drink. "You were always going to win." She risked a glance sideways to see his reaction.

"Glad to hear it." The nervous swallow he took of his drink said different.

She had the strangest expression on her face, like she was trying not to laugh or frown. "So what does John do?" she asked. The change of subject wasn't lost on either of them.

His smile was rather arrogant, and he had right to be. "He's a teacher." At Ruth's spellbound look, he continued. "A level English."

Her eyes glittered with admiration. Legends are supposed to be dull as ditch water so that no one's interested in them. Usually something along the lines of the civil service. Harry's was just so…normal.

"Sounds wonderful." Her voice held the same admiration as her eyes. "And so incredibly unlike you," she said with just a hint of laughter.

"Every now and then people surprise you."

She raised her glass in a mock toast. With a smile, Harry touched his glass with hers. "Every now and then," she repeated with a dreamy eyed look in her eyes.

A shiver ran through Ruth's spine like someone had taken an ice cube to her back. Harry was close enough to see Goosebumps raised on her arms. She rubbed at them absently with her free hand.

"We could go back inside if you're cold."

The concern in his voice was plain enough that she smiled. "No," she said, touching the back of his hand with her own. "I like it out here, it's peaceful."

"If you're sure." She nodded, and raised her glass to her lips. "And not just saying that to avoid someone?"

Ruth noted the subtle tone. It was subtle, almost too subtle to pick out. If she hadn't been looking directly at him she might have missed it. "Like who?" Her voice taking on a playful lit.

He shook his head, and looked down at his depleting drink. "No one in particular," he said, his eyes slightly narrow. "Tim, perhaps?"

And there it was; the first hint of jealousy from Harry. It had been a long time coming and now that she was confronted with it; she had no idea what to do. Better to tackle things head on. "Are you jealous Harry?"

It was worth it just to see the look of outrage on his face. Though it never reached his eyes. She could see something there that she couldn't even put a name too. Whatever it was suggested that her accusation was nothing short of the truth.

"Not that Tim ever had a chance." The moment is rolled off her tongue, she regretted it. She had almost grown out of the habit of saying whatever popped into her head. Almost.

Harry turned the full force of his gaze onto her. Not quite so long ago, she would have turned away almost as soon as she looked at him. A blush forcing itself across her cheeks. Now she held his gaze, bold as brass. The only sign that she was uncomfortable was her slightly laboured breathing. It was only then did he realise that she had a death grip on his hand, her palm slick with sweat. The breeze tossed a lock of her hair into her eyes.

"Ruth," he said softly.

She closed her eyes and tried to think. She licked her lips; her mouth had run completely dry. Her heart pounded in her chest like a caged thing. If she could have thought even to form a sentence, she didn't know if she would have trusted her voice.

The cool winter breeze blew the scent of her perfume and whiskey against his face. He reached out and brushed the stray strand of hair back off of her face. She watched his every move with something close to anticipation in her eyes. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just inches above hers, his hand lightly resting on her cheek. If she had breathed out, it would have brought their mouths together.

"Sharon!"

Ruth jerked back, pulling her fingers lose of Harry's. The last drops of whiskey sloshing up over the rim of the glass and onto her hand. She could still feel his hand against her cheek, the softness of his skin. She broke away from Harry's gaze and turned the face the source of their interruption.

Tim bounced down the path with a childlike glee. His smile faltered as he joined them. He clearly wasn't oblivious the tension that hang in the air. It was thick enough to feel it with bare hands. "Sorry to interrupt, but Vanessa sent me to look for you two," he said, somewhat nervously. "She wants everyone inside for Mince Pies and Carol Singing."

Ruth made herself smile. She felt the tense mask slipping back into place. "We'll...we'll be there in a minute." She hated the sound of her trembling voice.

She cursed under her breath and turned to look at Harry. He stood facing the pond, tapping his glass on the wooden railing. She could practically feel the frustration coming off of him in waves. Ruth bit down on her bottom lip, there was so much to say, yet she didn't know where to start.

Harry had felt her eyes on him for a while. An awkward silence that seemed to last for weeks enveloped them. Eventually he heard her retreating footsteps. Every one of them echoed like a gun shot. There should have been something to tell her, something to take the sting out of what had just happened. But she deserved so much more than empty and meaningless lines. He said her name, gently.

She stopped and turned partly towards him. She waited for him to continue, to say anything. She looked like she would wait for him forever, and maybe she would.

The question was, as always, how long would he make her wait? He started to say something, but the words died in his throat. He tried twice before he finally found his voice. "I'll see you in the morning."

A small sigh escaped her lips, though it sounded like a groan. "Goodnight Harry." Her voice was as emotionless and as flat as her words. The under lying tone of disappointment was bitter on the tongue.


End file.
